But Brother, I Love You
by Flamefox2
Summary: Samael (aka Mephisto Pheles) never asked to be an older brother-and especially not to five annoying pests that always get him in trouble with Father because he's the one who was ordered to take care of them. After Astaroth was born, he begged Satan not to have another. They made an agreement. But now there's a new king, and Samael's not so sure he likes him... Mean!Sam, Nice!Satan.
1. Year 1: I Hate My Brother

_I love you._

* * *

When my eyes first met with his and he looked at me, I could instantly tell that I would hate him as much as he loved me.

I never wanted to be an older brother. I told Father that from the start. He never listened to me, obviously, because there were five little brats running around aimlessly causing mayhem and destruction wherever they went almost twenty four-seven. And guess who was the guy who picked it all up afterward? Yes, that's right. It was me.

I never understood why it was never Lucifer. After all, he was the eldest, if not the most respectable of the group. Perhaps I would have had a better time with them if he looked up from his book every now and then or turned away from his paperwork to help. Instead I was left with the responsibility of guiding our younger brothers to fruition, to raise them up to be dependable little tykes who would reign their elements with clarity and pride. I tried many different ways of teaching them, and none of them turned out how I - or Father - wanted.

So Father yelled at me.

He was usually patient and quiet, but once a Gehennian **(1)** month, he would call me into his room and assault me with words. He would tell me how awfully my younger brothers were doing; he would complain about Astaroth's foolish antics and Iblis' fiery temper that he never seemed to control, no matter what he did nor how he did it. He would explain how Beelzebub still wouldn't socialize, how Egyn kept up his petty rivalry with Iblis and wouldn't focus on his own kingdom.

Each month, I would say that I was sorry, that I would try harder, that I knew what was wrong and that I would fix it. But deep inside, I knew that I couldn't, so I never did. This continued for seventeen years, ever since Iblis was born after me, then Egyn, then Azazel, and Beelzebub and finally Astaroth.

After Astaroth, I knelled down in front of him - hugged his legs, grasped his hand, placed many kisses upon his deathly white knuckles - and begged, pleaded for him to stop. Please, just stop making babies. No more little brothers, please, I can't take it anymore. His eyes turned somber and he nodded his head after many many moments of this, agreeing that if he ever did have another child, he would take care of it personally. That didn't stop him from calling me into his room three days after, complaining once more of my little brothers' misconduct.

And then there was the Earth.

I always walked by the nursery, more out of habit than anything else. It was a humbled nursery with walls that would comfort a demonling and music that was specially selected to soothe the minds of the different little brothers I had. I remembered that mine was techno and disco, which I always found to be quite humorous because they hurt Father's ears as well as Lucifer's. There was a toy box in the corner, and a small crib in the middle of the room as well as a bed for toddlers against the wall by the window that let in the yellow glow of our large, luminous moon. There were several chairs for guests, maids, the like.

There hadn't been music coming from the room in years, and the place was all but abandoned, save when the maids and butlers entered to clean it on a daily basis. Not since Astaroth, six years before, had the dim lights been on, signalling that it was time for bed or for their nap. But that day, when I passed by, I noticed out the corner of my eye that it was on.

The lights were on and there was a quiet music coming from behind the door.

I stopped abruptly and looked to the side, staring at the door with a dark, brooding vibe sparking in the pit of my soul. I walked up to the white door and pressed my pointed ear to it, my forest eyes narrowed with suspicion. Earthy tones that rocked my very bosom crept from beneath the floor of the door and up my legs, vibrating oddly in my stomach. My hands were on the wood of the door, and my black nails dug deep into it, my pointed fangs showing in a deep scowl.

Lifting my head, I stood on my tip toes and peered through the transom **(2)** into the nursery. It was easy enough; I was rather tall, so it was no trouble at all. Despite how the window was tainted slightly darker than I would have liked (for the privacy of the child, so said Father), I could see clearly what was through the window. And I frowned.

I stood flat on my feet and shoved the door open easily with my rage and anger, my claws unsheathed, my eyes devilish and my fangs bared. The door slammed into the wall, startling Father and the green-haired child he was having drink water from the bottom of a water bottle. It was how he gave us water when we were younger; he'd bite a hole around the rim of the bottom of a water bottle, enough that a little at a time can leak through, and then he'd tip it in our mouths and have us drink it. He was quirky that way, and while there was nothing wrong with that, it grew tiresome to do over time.

Father looked at me with wide blue eyes and a startled expression upon his features, which gave me a small sense of pride. Surprising Satan - hah! I couldn't help but wonder if that had been done before. And if it had, I certainly wasn't alive to see it. When he spoke, it was with a gasp, as he tried to recollect his breath. "S-Samael!" he exclaimed, standing to his feet with the child in his arms. The demonling had his small, tiny hands on the bottle, his tail impatiently tapped Father's elbow when he couldn't figure out how to get the water through. "I didn't think you would be here -"

"Just be quiet! What is this?!"

Father blinked before he looked down at the child, who by now gave up and was rolling over so that he was positioned like a puppy resting on its belly in the middle of a hot summer day. He struggled to correct his posture, to which the demonling protested by lightly cuffing his cheek. His eyes were trained on Satan's pale face, quiet and serene. Several drops of water leaked from the hole in the bottle to the floor. "Um, well, Samael, you see -"

"I thought we had an agreement!" My face was flushed, not only from my rage, but also from the realization that I had embarrassed myself for nothing. I had no regard at the time about any of my brothers' presence, about how much they giggled and laughed, but now that I knew that it all amounted to nothing, the first thought on my mind was killing not only every single one of them, but Father, as well, and then perhaps myself.

Perhaps Father could sense this, for he steeled his gaze and lowered his face with a quiet sneer that was meant to intimidate. It did its job rather effectively, making me shut my mouth and clench my teeth in irritation. "Our agreement," he said, "was not that I couldn't have any more children. It was that the future children not be in your care, was it not?"

Oh, he was right. Then was the demonling going to be taken care of by Father? Perhaps, but I truly didn't see any positive aspect of that in either case. My mouth quirked into a frown, and I clenched my fists. My claws dug into my hand; I felt red blood begin to dribble down my knuckles and felt the hot steam emanate from the wound as it healed. "Yes, Father," I growled, resisting the urge to shout.

"And I didn't say that he would be in your care, did I?"

"No, Father."

"So that means that you have no reason to complain, do you?"

I hesitated. "No, Father. I don't."

I couldn't help but tear my gaze away from Father and plant them on the demonling, who was clenching to Father's shirt like I so often used to. He was tugging lightly, trying to get Father's attention away from me and back on him. He was making odd sounds, as if he were trying to speak but couldn't form the words. Oh, God, was he autistic? Eventually he resorted to lightly tugging on one of Satan's longer bangs, his face close enough that the Demon King could likely feel his warm baby breath on his cheek. This made Father look down toward him. "What is it, Amaimon?"

Quietly he pointed at his mouth and opened it, his tiny fangs on full display in his small mouth. His alligator tail shifted slightly, almost as if he were excited. He made a soft 'ahhh' noise, which was high-pitched due to his young age.

I clicked my tongue in annoyance. "If he's hungry, why doesn't he say so?" I snapped, tapping my foot impatiently on the ground. "Does he even know how to talk? Ugh, this is a waste of your time, Father! Just get rid of him!"

Before I knew what was happening, Father was directly in front of me, his inch-long claws pointed directly at my eyes as if he were threatening to gouge my eyes out. In surprise, I stepped back as the water fell down to the ground with a dull _thud._ "I have a nephew with a penchant for the occult," he said, smirking angrily, his right eye twitching, "who collects eyeballs as a hobby and sells them to witches in Assiah. I'm sure he would love to have the eyes of the King of Time and Space, wouldn't you agree?"

My jaw clenched tightly, a twinge of annoyance weaving its way through me. I wondered for a minute if he was joking, but the mere glint in his eyes boded of impending punishment if I didn't tread carefully. Timidly, I shook my head and mumbled a harried apology. Amaimon - I believe that was what Father called him - tugged a little harder at Satan's bang as he stepped back. The demonling was being held close to Father's chest with one arm. He made the same gesture that he did before, with the same 'ahhh', but a little louder. Father knelt down and picked up the water bottle, placing it upside-down on the table he summoned with a black puff of smoke.

He scratched Amaimon gently behind his horns, making the blue-eyed demon close his eyes and purr, nuzzling his chest. Even I had to admit that his horns looked incredibly odd - rather flat and slanted, weren't they? I opened my mouth to say so, but held back at the last second. Instead it was Father who spoke.

"Maybe if you hold him, you'll think better of him, yeah?"

I stared at him incredulously. "...You're kidding, right?" Why would I want to hold such a disgusting creature in my hands?

"Does it look like I am?"

God, how I wanted to rip his heart out and tear him to shreds. But I couldn't; out of all the demons in Gehenna, I was the third most powerful, below Lucifer and Satan. There was no way I would be able to defeat my own father, even with Lucifer's help I was useless in that regard. He walked up to me, four steps, and offered Amaimon, who was incredibly hesitant and held tightly to his shoulder. He looked over at my pink-and-white polka-dot cravat, his expression somber and nervous. I knew that if I refused, Father would get angry at me again, so with my own hesitation, I took him.

He was surprisingly warm, and his tail struck my hip with a gentle force that made it ache slightly. Amaimon held onto my right arm as I held him awkwardly, looking down at the floor as if he were afraid I was going to drop him. _Don't be silly,_ I thought, _Father would kill me if I did that._ I knew that it wasn't an exaggeration, either, but if Father would turn away for just a moment, I wouldn't hesitate in doing so, pretending that he wriggled out of my grip and fell on his own accord...

But Father watched me closely, as if he knew what I was thinking. Contrary to popular belief, he was quietly protective of his children, especially his younger ones. He was Satan, but he was nonetheless a good father. Even I could vouch for that.

I tore my gaze away from Father with a scowl and glowered at Amaimon, who was making himself comfortable in my tense arms despite how outstretched they were. He continued staring at my shoes for a moment, then his attention turned to my hands. He lowered his head and seemed to sniff them for a moment before glancing at my white trench coat sleeves. He tentatively reached out his hand and ran it along the fabric. Amaimon looked up from the fabric and at my pink cravat, my lavender hair, my pale complexion.

His hand raised from my arm to my face, and he touched it gently. I was honestly startled, and I almost dropped him in that moment. Ugh, his baby hands were rubbing all up in my face! When were the last time they were cleaned? They felt cold and clammy...

He got to his knees against my chest and felt my hair, as if he were exploring my features, trying to memorize them to the best of his capabilities. Against my chest, I felt his small stomach grumble in hunger. He was breathing his breath in my nose, reaching even further up, trying to touch the curl on the top of my head. I tilted my head back so that he wouldn't reach it, staring down at him with a deep sense of loathing.

That's when our eyes met.

They were cold as ice, more bitter than a December. Perhaps if he had never met my gaze, they would have stayed that way, and he would have turned into the ideal demon that Father always wanted. But when they stared into my eyes, they melted into a slightly deeper sky blue, and he giggled and hugged me around my neck. The fabric of his baby blue one-piece was soft and rubbed against my neck from his arms, his tail swaying excitedly and happily. His hair had the texture of pine needles, and they rubbed against my chin annoyingly.

"Aww," said Satan, closing his eyes and smiling brightly. "I think he likes you, Sammy~"

The twinge of annoyance only grew sharper when Father called my by that nickname. How many times had I asked him not to refer to me by that name? I opened my mouth to snap at him, but before I could -

"Aniue!"

My eyes widened, and I glanced down at Amaimon, who was snuggling up close to my neck. A surging wave of emotion roared over me, though it was by no means positive. On the contrary; anger, hatred, disgust, loathing, all rolled up into one, and oh, so many more that I didn't know the names to. My hands wrapped around the boy's arms, letting go of his bottom half. He was held in place by his arms around my neck, which I removed with a little effort from my part.

I held him in the air in front of my face with a deep scowl. "What did you just call me?" I hissed.

Father sounded surprised. "Oh, my..." I turned my gaze momentarily to him, noticing how his mouth was covered by his hand in a shocked manner. I couldn't help but wonder what he was so shocked about. "I... I've been trying to get him to say 'Papa' for weeks..." He lowered his hand slowly, and he smiled in the sweetest manner. "Heh, looks like 'Aniue' is your new name, huh, Samael?"

"No, it's not." I returned my attention to the confused child, who was struggling slightly in my grasp. He was looking at me, trying to pull his arms out of my grip so he could hug my neck some more. He kept on repeating that name. 'Aniue', 'Aniue'; it was getting on my nerves so I dropped him to the ground, reveling in the high-pitched whimper he gave.

Satan gasped and stepped forward, but not before I reached down and slapped the boy across the face.

There was a stiff moment of silence.

And then Amaimon began to cry, loudly.

_**"SAMAEL!"**_

_Father, can't you see what you've just done?_ I scowled down at the child before turning on my heel, advancing back toward the door and grasping the handle.

**_"DON'T YOU DARE TURN THAT HANDLE."  
_**

I ignored Father's interjections and did as he commanded me not to do. Behind me I could hear Father's outbursts and Amaimon's wails and the music that vibrated in my stomach. I pulled the door open.

_**"DON'T YOU DARE WALK THROUGH THAT DOOR."**_

I looked over my shoulder and frowned at the scene before me. Amaimon was staring at me with deep, desperate tears in his eyes as he reached his tiny clawed hand toward me. He kept calling me by the name he'd given me, 'Aniue'. Each time, it ground my nerves into dozens of pieces, and then into a fine powder that almost seemed to be rubbed into my face. Father was completely enraged, the blue flames he wielded licking his skin and his clothes, his teeth all pointed and bared. It almost made me smirk, but I held it down.

"What are you gonna do about it, Father?" I asked, stepping out the door and closing it behind me.

_**"SAMAEL!"**_

I pressed my ear against the door, knowing that Father would focus more on comforting his son rather than chasing after one of his eldest sons. He had mixed priorities, but one thing was for certain: When it came to his children, calming them was always his first initiative, especially when they were so very young.

After a moment, he heard a light shuffling, followed by the sound of hushing. "Shh, it's okay," murmured Father. I could imagine him holding my youngest brother close in his arms, rocking him back and forth on the floor, humming a melody in order to calm him. "Sleep now, the monsters are gone..."

"Aniue!"

How odd, why did he call for me after I left? Especially after what I just did to him. Amaimon was odd, wasn't he? Hmm... perhaps it would be interesting to play around with my littlest brother a little bit, especially if he reacted the same way as he did just then. I felt a coy smirk play on my lips. Just before I pulled away, I heard Amaimon say:

"Bye-bye, Aniue..."

His first words were dedicated to me.

* * *

**1) Younger demons gain one physical year every 150 years until they turn ten, after which the time period will lengthen depending on the type of demon. Because of the amount of time it takes for them to age, one month to demons is one twelfth of 150 years, because to them, a hundred and fifty years is equivalent to one year.  
**

**2) Transom-A window above a doorway, which is used mainly for decoration purposes.  
**

**Woo, yay, another fandom. I've been a fan of Ao No Exorcist/Blue Exorcist for about two months. At first I was hesitant because of all the references to the Catholic religion, but now... well, it's awesome. I love the two demon brothers, as you can tell, and Rin's hilarious.**

**There is going to be an italicized line at the beginning of each chapter. Each chapter represents a different year/age that Amaimon grows... so chapter one takes place when Amaimon's one, chapter two when he's two, and so on so forth. Mostly Mephisto's going to be mean to him, so fair warning.**

**If you combine all the italicized lines in the beginning of each chapter, you'll get Amaimon's viewpoint of Mephisto.**

**I encourage any kind of review, so if anything seems off or if you just want to say that it's a good story, please tell me - for motivation's sake!**


	2. Year 2: Babysitting the King of Flowers

_You hate me._

* * *

It took several months for Father to forgive me for my actions. It seems like the silent treatment was a very effective method of punishment. I didn't realize how much I depended on him for advice, or how much I drew from that advice. He was also proficient at ignoring me, zoning me out as if I were nothing but furniture. Even during our weekly family meetings, he completely disregarded me, skipping my turn and jumping straight from Lucifer to Iblis.

He often had Amaimon with him over these months. The first few times I saw him, he was so quiet, almost afraid; but as time went by, he grew more assured, and began to reach for my clothes and call out "Aniue". It was then that Father shouldered him and had him fall quiet, his sapphire eyes disapproving. Soon Amaimon got the message, but he still smiled whenever I walked into the room.

I don't know what the fuck was going through his mind.

What I _did _know was that Satan was waiting for an apology. A simple 'I'm sorry', and it would be all over. Although I was beginning to get stressed out about it after a while, I remained stubborn, and so was Father. I think he actually _did _forget that I existed at one point, on the third month during dinner. When I walked into the dining room and sat down at my normal seat, to the right of Father, there wasn't even a plate. There wasn't a drink. He took no notice of my presence and told my brothers that it was time to eat.

The maids served everyone except for me.

It wasn't until dinner was halfway over that I got ticked and dug my nails into Father's hand as he was reaching for his goblet of wine. Red blood dotted the back of his pale hand as my claws hooked into his skin. He frowned, pausing for a moment.

"Father," I hissed, my fangs showing in irritation, "let me eat."

The dinner table was quiet. Satan glanced up at me and blinked as if seeing me for the first time. Frankly I didn't care: I was hungry and dejected. He pulled away, his hand healing with smoke rising up from it. Wiping the back of his hand against his ruby robes, he used his uninjured one to gesture over his shoulder. A butler stepped forward and leaned down so his pointed ear was close to Father's mouth. Father tilted his head toward him and murmured, never taking his sour, cold eyes away from me. After a moment, the butler nodded, and he left, bringing a plate to me soon after.

"Thank you," I said, exasperated.

Father frowned and turned toward Lucifer, starting up a conversation with the King of Light, his eldest son. Eventually chatter returned to the table. Everyone else ignored me that night, too, except for Amaimon. He was sitting in Father's lap, watching me with curious blue eyes.

* * *

After that dinner, I returned to my room and continued practicing my magic. Needless to say, it was difficult to concentrate—the fact that Father had completely forgotten about _me_, forgotten to give me food—it made me wonder if I was a bad child, a disappointment. But no, that can't be right. I was the second Son of Satan, the King of Time and Space—surely I wasn't a failure. My face contorted into a scowl and, upon realizing several hours later that it was useless to try to focus, I stood and left my room for the dozenth time that day.

I stormed through the halls, my pace fast, my teeth clenched together and my eyes altogether murderous. I needed to find a place where I could calm down, relax my enraged soul. To be honest, I didn't know what I was so angry about in the first place. Perhaps it was the image ingrained in my mind; the image of that boy looking up at me and smiling so sweetly, so cheekily in Father's lap. I clenched my fists and found my claws digging into the palm of my hand. I didn't care too much about that. It was only the second time that blood was shed by them that day.

It wasn't until I passed by the nursery and realized that it was once again lit that I paused and looked toward it. I was quiet for a moment, still; then I leaned in and pressed my ear to the wood. Father was speaking, gently. His voice was like silk and velvet combined into one fabric, the smoothest and richest of all. A cord of loneliness enveloped me. How shameful it was, for the only way for me to hear him speak to be limited to listening in on his conversations with my brothers or his subjects. I hated to admit it, but I missed his voice, his words, the comfort he brought to me. A lump formed in my throat, and I gulped, willing myself to keep it together as I turned the door handle and peered inside.

Through the crack, I saw Father sitting in front of a table. I couldn't be entirely sure, for his back was turned to me, but I thought I saw several materials in front of him, between him and Amaimon, who was on his knees gazing at the items curiously. Father was speaking, gesturing toward each of the materials with his quiet hand and his quiet voice. The table was low-set, a dark redwood shade that contrasted against the dark green of a tree leaf that looked to me like it came from Assiah. I listened.

"This is an oak leaf," he said, gesturing toward the leaf that I saw before, "and this is what's known as 'clay'." He picked something up and held it toward Amaimon, who took it in his tiny hands. He squealed in excitement and squeezed the clammy material, rubbing it deeply into the grain of the table, curious as to what the turnout would be. I blinked at this, and decided it would be best to make my presence known. So I knocked gently on the door and opened it the rest of the way, walking quietly into the room. Satan turned to look over his shoulder with his mouth opened as if he were about to greet the intruder, before he saw me and clamped it shut. He then returned all of his attention on Amaimon and continued introducing him to new materials.

Amaimon wasn't even paying any attention anymore. When he saw me, he smiled brightly and exclaimed his nickname for me rather loudly, which made my ears hurt and my nose crinkle up ever so slightly. Once again, Father nudged him, silently urging him to keep quiet; unsurprisingly he did so, and before long, he was returned to the task at hand, though he occasionally glanced up at me and beamed brightly. It made my head hurt just looking at it.

He still played with the wet clay as Father introduced him to lead and sawdust, and finally blood. Amaimon leaned in close to the strange red liquid and sniffed, pulling back soon afterward with a surprised gleam in his eyes. I came closer, partially curious, partially annoyed, with my arms crossed. I saw Father smile, which I hadn't seen him do over the course of those three long months once. Once again, my stomach knotted up, under the realization that I made Satan's life a living hell with my attitude and Amaimon was more like a little piece of Sestreph **(1)** to him. It made me unsheathe my claws again and hook them into my long white sleeves, tear several threads away simply so I wouldn't snap. If only Father would talk to me. If only he would look at me without that blank stare.

"Are there any you like, Amaimon?" he asked, ignoring my being right next to him. The green-haired demonling was wearing cacky pants that reached down to his short knees, a t-shirt that was patterned with a light brown tartan. It seemed as if he was feeling rather 'earthy' that day, what with his hands stained with specks of dirt and his shoes covered in mud. It was a surprise that he hardly made a mess on the plush red carpet of the nursery. Amaimon continued playing with the clay, though his gaze was flickering between the sawdust, the lead, the blood, and the oak leaf. He lifted up the clay and sniffed it, smiling softly as his nails dug deep into the center of it. He pulled the tray of blood toward him and scented that again, recoiling.

"Papa," he said, almost poutily pointing toward the blood. I was surprised at how distinguishable his voice was. Father returned his gaze to the blood, smiling softly once again.

"Blood," he said.

"Bood," said Amaimon, dropping the clay in the life-giving liquid. Several drops of blood splashed on the table, before the rest settled back around the ball of clay. The Earth King picked it up and massaged the blood into the clay, more out of curiosity than anything else.

"Father," I said at last, tearing my gaze from the annoying boy and back toward him. "How long is this charade going to keep going? When are you going to talk to me again?"

As expected, I got no answer. Father was cleaning the blood off of the table with a napkin he conveniently had at hand, reached his other one up to scratch an itch over his eyebrow. My temper flared at the lack of response. "What do you want me to do, apologize?"

As if in resignation, he tilted his head back to indicate that he was listening. My upper lip twitched when Amaimon made babyish sounds that I couldn't understand. I read somewhere that at this age, much of a child's speech was illegible, but knowing that he was saying something that I just didn't _understand_ just pissed me off further.

But at least Father acknowledged me. At least I knew what had to be done for him to speak to me again.

I just hated admitting that I was wrong, even if I knew it and he knew it, too. It forced me to swallow my pride whole, and it usually got caught in my throat and practically choked me to death. I couldn't possibly apologize...

"Papa!" shouted Amaimon again, holding out the blood-stained ball of clay to him. He was smiling brightly, proud with the result his stupidity brought. "Bood and cway!"

"Very good," Satan said, smiling as he mussed up the boy's hair again. Amaimon giggled and held up the mess to me, a smile plastered on his face.

"Bood and cway!"

Oh, God, Father must be so tortured having to listen to this foolishness.

"Father, I'm sorry."

He looked over his shoulder at me, unimpressed by my bland tone of voice and - most likely - the fact that I didn't even give a reason. To prove this point, he raised his eyebrow, the edge of his mouth quirking upward in a smirk. I growled again.

"I'm... sorry for, er..." I expected my tone to be forced, yes, but not so quiet. Clearing my throat, I gathered myself and repeated: "I'm sorry for hitting Amaimon when I first saw him, okay? Is that good enough?"

Satan raised his other eyebrow, his slight smirk somewhat larger. A devilish glint flashed in his cyan eyes, as if waiting for me to humiliate myself farther.

I gulped down the remainder of my pride. "It... won't happen again. I promise."

"I want you to babysit your baby brother," Satan said, standing abruptly to his feet with a clap and a joyous smile. "Give him a warm bath with lavender-scented bubbles to help him sleep at nine, read him a bed time story at nine forty-five to calm him down. Make sure he's asleep by ten fifteen or he'll be cranky in the morning - and believe me, you do _not _want to see the green guy angry. Give him a bowl of grain cereal and a few slices of orange with warm milk for breakfast, and be sure to let him choose what he wants to wear. I like his style. I'll be back by ten in the morning. Ciao!"

...What just happened?

That's all that I could think as Father skipped through the door after giving me orders on how to take care of a child. Not to mention, the child that I hit months before. When I finally gathered my thoughts, I snapped to attention and rushed out the door. Father was still walking down the hall, humming a merry tune. _"Father!"_ I snapped, and he turned his head to look at me over his shoulder, grinning.

"Ye-e-e-es, Samael~?"

"Why-what-you want me to -"

"Yes, Sammy, I want you to babysit your little brother! I have work to do. Really technical stuff - you'll understand when you're older." His smile evaporated slightly as he adopted a broody expression. "Yes, you'll understand..."

"Why do I -?"

"Amaimon's been asking for you, dear," he answered in his quiet manner. "Go attend to the little boy. Have some _fun_, lighten _up_, _love _your little brother while you can, because you never know when he's going to get bored of you."

_I'm almost looking forward to that day._

"Now then, I'd best be on my way." He smiled brightly then, and with a snap of his fingers and a puff of thick, black smoke, he vanished.

I stared at where Father stood for one full perplexed minute. Then I retreated back into the nursery slowly, closing the door stiffly behind me.

I felt a light tug on my pants, and I looked down, frowning heavily. Amaimon looked up at me with wide, curious eyes.

"Aniue, I'm hungwy."

* * *

He was a two-year-old nightmare.

It didn't take me long to realize that Father assigned me this task simply to humiliate me even more. While the request was simple, he knew how angry I got at Amaimon for no particular reason, and because I made a promise, I couldn't do anything about it that involved physical abuse. I couldn't break a promise once I made it. I was the King of Promises **(2)**.

The first thing he did when Father left was ask me for food. Grudgingly, I took him to the kitchen. He insisted on holding onto my clothes if not my hand, which stained it with bloody clay. It would be a nightmare to return them to their previous white splendor! Oh, Father, why have you done this to me!

Oh wait. This was also punishment.

"Alright, brat," I hissed, nudging him away for the fifth time with my lavender-gloved hand, "what do you usually eat at this time of day?"

"Dessert!" he squealed, wrapping his arms around my leg. With a scowl, I began to try shaking him off in vain. Eventually I just gave up and sighed in irritation, resorting to dragging my leg - and him - behind me. "Ice cweam! Bwownie! Cake! Cookie!"

"Get off of my leg, you little twat."

Amaimon was silent for a moment before he slowly released my leg from his deadly clutches. I breathed a sigh of relief; finally I could walk normally... though I did wonder why he did as I asked. He was in his terrible twos, which meant that he should be way more disobedient.

"Aniue, I'm hungwy."

By the time we got to the kitchen, my patience was run thin. He kept asking for food, and it didn't help that he asked for so much. I personally wasn't entirely sure whether it was good of him to have so many sweets before he was supposed to be prepared for bedtime, in fact I was almost positive that he would stay up all night if I gave him what he wanted.

Like the rest of the castle, the kitchen was made of dark grey stone and the counters had a dark wooden surface to it. The equivalent of chickens in Gehenna - Harches - were being drained of blood and hung up to dry on a beam above a blood-collecting bin. There was ice in one of the sinks, which held several pieces of pigmy ham for the next day's dinner. There was a plate of cookies on the counter, covered by glass. I dug a little more into the ice and found a small glass bottle of milk. How convenient.

I grabbed the milk and placed it heavily on the counter before removing the glass covering from the cookie tray. The scent of chocolate chip cookies flooded up my nose, making me gulp slightly. It would be nice to just eat it on my own, but Amaimon was jumping with his arms outstretched, trying with small sounds to get the sweets. Sourly I reached down and lifted Amaimon, placing him on the edge of the table in a seated position. He giggled and rocked his legs back and forth as I counted three cookies and poured some milk in a child's cup. Only then did I pass it over to my annoying little brother.

I sat down on a stool and watched as he ate the cookies and drank the milk with his small hands. After several minutes of this, my mind wandered off and my gaze shifted to the window, taking in the moonlight that flooded in from the pale yellow moon. The outside was perpetually clouded with blackened clouds that drifted on a cool breeze. This world was meant to mirror Assiah... if that was true, then was Assiah's clouds black? Was their moon the palest of yellows, that shone the gentlest of lights down onto the denizens below? My chin perched itself on top of my hand, and I sighed.

I always wanted to go to Assiah. To escape the incredible boredom that Gehenna now gave me. There was nothing new to explore, no new experiences for me to encounter. I was the King of Time and Space, and I was so incredibly _bored_. I understood why Lucifer left the month before. He was the first born, and he'd been in Gehenna all his life. And now I was suffering the same thing.

With a two-year-old brother yanking on my tail.

When the thought of the green-haired boy crossed my mind, I turned my head sharply toward him, frowning as he drank the rest of his milk while looking down at the ground below him. It looked like he was about to fall. Hah! If he did, I'd let him; I wouldn't have broken my promise to Father, after all. He'd have hurt himself in that regard. Unfortunately, he didn't fall, and he looked up at me and smiled, holding out his empty cup with one hand and his free hand wide open.

I remember thinking that he was a fast eater who wasn't all that picky, having eaten slightly stale cookies and drank partially frozen milk.

I stood to my feet and picked him up, unsurprised when he grabbed my cravat with his fingers, giggling and nuzzling my shoulder. I scowled at the thought of cookie crumbs and milk spreading on my coat; sure, it was white, but still! I pried his fingers off of me and held him in front of my face. He looked at me, smiling sheepishly, as I brought him a little closer and smelt his scent. He smelt like dirt, the samples of pine that I sometimes saw whenever I chanced to venture into the garden, and freshly fallen dew still on crisp, fresh grass. If you were to subtract the addition of bloodied clay, it would be described as 'earthily sweet'.

And submissive.

The thought made me tighten my grip on the boy, enough that he jumped sharply and whimpered. I held him a little farther away, watching him with deep trepidation. My hatred for the boy faded slightly into uncertainty. The fact that he came from no where, that he smelt so...

_No, Samael, it must be your mind. You're over thinking it, Time Lord._

Either way, he needed a bath, and he needed it soon. Father was right in that regard, at least. After that I'd have to force him into PJs and make him brush his teeth before getting the little brat in bed after reading him a stupid bedtime story. I put him in the crook of my arm hesitantly, taking the empty cup away from him and dumping it in the sink for Azazel to take care of later. He held tightly to my hair from his little perch, making me wince and hiss at him to stop. Hesitantly he did so, instead holding on tightly to my shoulder so he wouldn't fall back. His nails dug little holes into my jacket through my shirt and in my skin.

The latter didn't bother me much. It would heal within seconds, but the bloodstains on my clothes would once again be a killer to wash out. I took him back into the nursery, which was down three flights of stairs and was four hallways down, on the fifteenth floor of the third tower of home. In the back of the room was a doorway to a bathroom, which I took him to, setting him to the ground and turning on the hot water before removing my lavender gloves.

His hands gripped the edge of the bathtub; he was so small, he could barely see even on his tip-toes. I reached over and added some cold water, feeling it and deeming it to be warm enough. After that, I looked around for the lavender bubble bath, finding it underneath the sink. I unscrewed the cap and poured a healthy amount into the rushing water. I watched it foam up for a moment before realizing that I lost my immediate sights on Amaimon.

I looked around in the immediate area before turning around and finding him behind me, pulling off the snaps of his shirt and shrugging it off as if he knew it was time for him to get clean, though he did so with a rather grudging demeanor. He pulled down his pants, which had the stretchy waistband. He kicked off his shoes and I noticed that he had on a diaper.

Oh, for fuck's sake. Well, at least he didn't stink in _that _way.

He struggled to kick off his pants legs, glancing up at me and smiling shyly when he saw me watching him. Eventually I came to realize that he needed a tad bit of help, so with a resigned sigh, I kneeled down in front of him and held his hands as he removed his feet from the cacky pants. He smiled. "Danku, Aniue," he said, standing on his tip toes and licking me lightly on the cheek.

I shuddered heavily as I picked him up again and placed him on the changing table and grudgingly removed his diaper. He played with a ring of keys as I did so, letting me do my own thing. I was correct in assuming that his diaper was clean - lucky me! - and I disposed of it properly, taking the keys from his hands and placing it down where they were before.

He had incredibly pale skin and what was exposed by his clothes before was where most of the filth was. His hands were streaked with dried red blood and caked in clay, while the skin below his knees was, I finally realized, rather filthy with dirt, more than likely from the garden. So he was the King of Flowers, after all! I picked him up and lowered him half-carelessly into the water, which he kicked with his feet whilst laughing like a maniac. "Bath time!" he squealed. "Wawm!"

"Sorry?" I asked, frowning. That last word was something I didn't understand as I lowered him the rest of the way, having him go into a sitting position. The water by now barely covered his butt; I'd wait for it to get a little higher before I'd turn off the water. "What did you say?"

"Wawm!" he repeated, looking at me with earnest eyes as I felt the water temperature. It was a little on the hot side, but it was still rather warm - hopefully enough to please the spoiled little alligator. I responded with a curt "Whatever, twerp" before taking a wash cloth from a rack and wetting it. I then proceeded to dampen his skin, squeezing the water onto his back. He shuddered, but seemed to embrace the warmth, and ended up forgetting what he was trying to tell me, content with closing his eyes and giggling.

I don't want to bore you with the details of my endeavor. Just know that it involved a lot of splashing, a lot of shouting, and an incredible amount of time that I would never get back, and by the time we were done, my clothes - _DRY CLEAN ONLY! -_ were SOAKED, and Amaimon was practically dying of laughter. And he also pissed in the water. What fun! Another bath! And this time I forced him to let me wash his hair, which ensued in much more struggling, cursing (from my account), and shouts of 'No!' from the Flower King's.

When I finally let him out and dried him off roughly, I checked the time in my tick-tocking mind and found that it was nearly time for me to read him a story. I lifted him back onto the changing table and powdered him up, did whatever was needed to put a diaper on a kiddo since I did it thousands of times before for my other little brothers. Afterwards I brushed his teeth for him and looked into the closet, taking Dad's advice and letting him pick out his pajamas.

He ended up settling for grey cotton clothes, and I helped him step into the pants while watching him struggle to pull them up on his own. I managed to get the shirt over his head and his arms through the holes, then I forced some socks onto him despite his protestations. Amaimon smiled brightly soon afterwards, taking me by the hand and leading me back into the main room, where there was a book case in the corner that I hadn't seen before. He almost stumbled over several of his toys; after watching this for a moment, I snapped my fingers, and with a puff of pink smoke surrounding each of the toys, they disappeared into his toy box, and the box shut on its own.

Amaimon paused and stared at where a large, black teddy bear used to be. He frowned, looking around. "Yami?" he asked, his voice high. "Yami?"

Rolling my eyes, I mumbled sourly under my breath before snapping my fingers again, and in another puff, the bear was returned to its original position. The green boy smiled broadly and laughed, clapping his hands together at my 'magic trick', as he would later call it. He returned his attention back toward his goal, stumbling towards the book case eagerly. I followed nonchalantly behind him, making sure to keep several feet away with my arms crossed over my chest. I had to stop wearing these nice clothes with him around; he was ruining them so quickly, tarnishing their perfection with his filth.

He clumsily pulled out a book and fell backward with it in his lap, an unnecessarily tall book that was unnecessarily thin. He held it in his hands and looked at it for a moment before turning his head to look at me and lifting it toward me. Leaning down without bending my knees, I read the title.

I couldn't help the smirk that broke my cold demeanor.

'_The Silver Moon of Assiah'_

"Papa read me moon," he said. "Papa say moon white. Like Aniue." He smiled brightly. "Aniue is moon!"

Okay, maybe he was a_ li-ittle_ cute in a cheesy way. But I still hated him all the same.

The only reason that thought crossed my mind was because Father used to read me that very same book before I fell asleep. I remembered laying in my bed, the covers just above my chin, and Father sitting on the ground by my side, the book open in his lap as his rich voice flooded my ears and let me drift off to sleep. Sometimes on a particularly good day, he'd let me rest in his lap as he read, an arm wrapped gently around me like a secure, small cradle that reassured me that nothing could go wrong.

I took the book from him and watched him stumble to his feet, grunting. Amaimon reached up and grabbed my free hand, pulling me softly over to the crib. Afterwards he lifted up his arms and loudly proclaimed, "Up!" to which I hesitantly set down the book and picked him up, placing him in the crib and pulling up a seat beside him. For a two-year-old, he was incredibly obedient and ready to stick to schedules; this made me wonder...

With the book once again in my hands, I opened it and began to read, my words not nearly as velvety as Father's, but certainly as effective in this situation.

The story was of the small adventure of a young demonling who accidentally ventured out into the world of Assiah in an attempt to help his hungry friends become satiated. He wandered for a day and, when it was night, he paused to look at the moon, and the rays cast its sterling silver light upon his skin. He knew he was safe, and so he slept in peace. He returned when daylight came with flowers and seeds from Assiah, giving to Gehenna what it needed in its time of crisis; for Gehenna was starving, and these new seeds that were sown gifted the realm of the demons with food.

It was a sweet story with a sweet ending, and though it was nothing more than a bedtime story, a part of me wanted to believe that it held a sense of truth. When I looked up after finishing the story nearly fifteen minutes later, I found that Amaimon was sleeping, the mobile held above his crib turning slowly as earthy tones resounded soothingly in the air. He was drooling slightly, gentle snores complimenting the rising and falling of his chest. I returned the book to its original place and dimmed the lights before closing the door behind me, relieved that I was finally free of the twerp.

The time was ten ten.

* * *

**My god, I JUST LOVE BABY AMAIMON, HE'S SO PRECIOUS, EEE.**

**I hope you guys are happy. I stayed up all night writing this. Like, most of my inspiration seems to come at night after drinking half a bottle of stale coke with Family Guy/American Dad/Loiter Squad/Adult Swim on TV. It's 2:15 AM right now. =_=**

**So apparently Astaroth doesn't exist in the manga, but really this is more anime-based, so Astaroth _is _going to be a Demon King in this story. I haven't exactly caught up on the manga quite yet, but I do know a bit about Lucifer from what little I've read on the wiki. And as for the huge time gap between Gehenna and Assiah, I fixed it. Now it's more logical. ._.  
**

**And according to calculators, that means that one Gehennian month is equal to 12.5 months in Gehenna, or a little over a year. And I see Amaimon as looking about sixteen or seventeen, so he's going to be between... 2400 and 2550 years old in present time. :P  
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**1. Sestreph - the equivalent of Heaven, like Gehenna is to Hell and Assiah is to Earth. I had some help coming up with the name. elderwolves deserves the credit for the name!  
**

**2. In a buttload of stories, Mephy is known as the King of Promises, so I decided to incorporate that into the story. Sooo... if he makes a promise, it's reeeally hard for him to beak it.  
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**The storybook part was just a spur of the moment, btw. The original idea seemed rather lame (boy goes to Assiah, boy feels moon's rays, boy goes back to Gehenna, boy tells the tale, the end), so I decided to make it a bit more dramatic. Deja vu, but dramatic.**

**And I have no clue how to take care of a baby, so this was just based on internet and personal experience with my nephew when he visited me a year or two ago. Let me know if I got any details wrong!~ ANYONE can review. ANYONE.  
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**Why was Satan showing Amaimon clay and blood and all that stuff? How is Mephisto like Assiah's moon? And why the heck is Satan dressed like Santa Claus?! All this and more in the next installment!**


	3. Year 3: Satan Inspired Santa Claus!

_That's okay._

* * *

"Samael, what in Gehenna is Father wearing?"

When I looked up at Beelzebub from my position on the floor, practicing on my drawing like a child, I saw that the two antennae at the top of his light green head were flattened in agitation and puzzlement. Despite being the fourth youngest, he was one of the more likeable ones to me—after all, you couldn't exactly say that you didn't know how he felt after being around him for a while. Beelzebub was frowning, staring at Father, who I turned my gaze toward.

_What?_

"Father, what are you wearing?!"

I'll admit, I was surprised myself. I'd never seen such an outfit worn by anybody, especially not my father. He wore a suit thick with red velvet that shone when the light hit it just right, and the edges were decorated with white fur. He had a hat with the same style, but it had a white pompom on the end of it. He had a thick black belt around his waist, brown slacks, and knee-high black boots in which the slacks were tucked into. Father looked up from trimming his fingernails, a little confused for a moment, his mind obviously elsewhere before he looked at me and said, "What?"

"What are you wearing? Why? Just… why?"

Father closed his eyes and smiled, the fire illuminating his face and shining off his snow-white hair cheerfully. He clenched his hands together tightly, as he often did when he was about to launch himself in one of his small lectures that he so enjoyed. Beelzebub and I rolled our eyes and looked at each other, my little brother mouthing, 'Why? Just… why?'

"I have seen the future, my boys," he said in his sickeningly sweet tone. He stood with his fingers still crossed and tilted his head endearingly to the side. "And it is bright! Horse-drawn carriages carrying optimistic noblemen and wealthy folks! Kings and queens of promises unfulfilled! War and bloodshed over pointless means!"

"Dad, what do carriages have to do with anything?" asked Beelzebub, crossing his arms as his antennae and eyebrow twitched irritably. "I mean, we're demons. So... we kinda already have that stuff?"

"So?" asked the devil, opening his eyes and frowning in puzzlement. At his feet, Amaimon was playing with our Cat Sídhe Sunakon **(1)**, the family pet. At the confused tone of voice Father gave, he looked up, not understanding what was going on. "Still an amazing part of history, isn't it? Besides, sooner or later, this very day will be known as a holiday of give-and-take and merriment!"

At that final word, he unclasped his hands and spread his arms, the ever-dramatic Satan he always was, and laughed.

Beelzebub looked down at me and frowned. "Samael, I think I know where you get your eccentric personality from now," he said shortly, crossing his arms. I forced myself into a sitting position, crossing my legs and frowning at my bug brother, then turning my attention to Father, who finally ceased his laughter and gestured to his attire while I took a drink of my wine.

"So in the future, guess who's gonna give presents to the children of Assiah all across the world!"

I choked on my sweet wine, covering my mouth before I spat it out. Beelzebub reacted in a similar manner, but with his spit. Amaimon just sat there, only vaguely knowing what was going on.

"_WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?"_

Beelzebub began coughing, covering his mouth and hacking heavily into his hand. Amaimon giggled, amused by his older brothers' stunned responses, before breaking into full on laughter. Beneath my shirt, I felt my tail tighten around my body, a frown finding its way onto my face, replacing my surprise. Father only stood there, his arms still outstretched almost foolishly. "'What' what?" he asked, frowning slightly. "I'm bored, so…"

In that exact moment, one of my younger brothers decided to barge in, slamming the double doors open in a foolish attempt to sound important. "Daddy, I'm here!" shouted Azazel excitedly, launching himself in and coming to a halt right in front of Father. Behind him, his black, wisp-like tail wagged eagerly behind him, his hands clasped together as he hovered in the air all hunched over. On his legs were very long socks that covered his knees and had thick black-and-grey stripes. He called them stockings. And he was obsessed with these 'stockings'.

"My little boy," squealed Father, appearing just as happy as the King of Spirits did, "the dawn of Christmas is upon us! This day shall go down in history, known as a day of merriment and presents! That is why—"

"—Why you're going to give children presents that they've wanted throughout their entire lives based on whether they've been naughty or nice? How sweet!"

"Uh, no," said Father, expression suddenly going bland as he stared at Azazel's cheerful face. Slowly, Azazel's face fell, and I broke into a series of chuckles along with Beelzebub, whose antennae were twitching in his merriment. "Actually, it's a gift I will give Assiah.

"From the moment night begins on the Assian month of December on the day of the twenty-fourth during the turn of the tenth century, I hereby decree that any demon who causes massive destruction on Assiah from midnight to the start of the twenty-sixth shall be punished accordingly. Meanwhile, in the future, _you—"_ here, he planted his hands firmly on Azazel's skinny shoulders "—are going to find a spirit who is willing to work in Assiah to give presents to the cute little children in the years to come. Make sure he's a happy, jolly bloke! This will be my second gift to Assiah, and will be enacted on the same day as the law begins!"

"Oooh!" exclaimed Azazel excitedly, clapping his hands together. "I know just the guy! Thanks, Daddy! I know what he'll be called, too! 'Santa Claus!' The first name is 'Satan' spelled a little differently, and 'Claus' without the 'e'! That way it's saying that it's Satan's Clause without anyone suspecting _anything!"_

Both Beelzebub and I shuddered. Despite how ladylike and clueless Azazel often acted, there was no denying that he had an ingenious mind when it came to certain things… such as this. Amaimon clapped happily and giggled as if on a silent cue, and Father did the same, except he laughed. "Wonderful, just wonderful!" he shouted, embracing our black-haired brother tightly. "You're a genius!"

"I know," said Azazel, smirking as Father let him go. "I'll get to it right away! He'll be ready in a few hundred years!"

"Perfect! Get it moving, dear sonny boy!"

After Azazel left with a happy grin and a jump in his glide (as well as an annoyed frown at Amaimon), Beelzebub sighed in exhaustion and collapsed next to me, on his knees. Father settled back down in his seat, his legs crossed and his fingers dancing over his knees. He was grinning giddily, his face slightly flushed and his smile infectious. Amaimon suddenly slammed his hand on the ground, and Beelzebub jolted upright almost immediately, anger flaring with a surprising speed. "_Amaimon!"_ he snapped, ice blue eyes flaring in anger.

Amaimon frowned and looked at his older brother, his lips pursed almost sourly. "What?" he asked, putting down the toy mouse that Sunakon was trying to grab from him.

"Do not mess with my Chuchi!"

I couldn't resist the urge to face-palm, and I did it harder than I intended. My forehead felt sore, and I knew that it would redden before long. Oh, how I hated that annoying little pipsqueak, I just wish he would die already…

Father had a similar reaction, though instead of smacking his head across his head, he stopped at the last possible moment and instead brushed the hair out of his eyes with a deep, broody sigh, his good mood spoiled. Amaimon huffed and turned his back to Beelzebub, crossing his arms stubbornly as his alligator tail wrapped around his feet. Without warning, Beelzebub stood to his feet and advanced to the littlest brother of all, kneeling down behind him and grabbing his arm.

Amaimon cried out in shock, wrenched around to face Beelzebub. Deciding to stay and see how this show will end, I put down my pencil and cracked my knuckles. "Yeah, teach him a lesson, Beelze. Make him regret killing yer kin."

"Don't encourage him," mumbled Father, watching them warily. I couldn't help but chuckle, righting myself and crossing my legs as I waited for it all to unfold.

Which it did in due time.

It started off as it normally did, with Beelzebub giving him a lecture about how he shouldn't kill his kin or he would destroy him when he was twelve and Amaimon blatantly saying that he didn't care. As the conversation progressed, though, it became apparent that neither was willing to back down. Amaimon didn't apologize, and Beelzebub didn't stop asking for an apology. Before long, Amaimon was scratching Beelzebub's hand, trying to get him to release his arm, but it only made my bug brother angry and tighten his grip.

Amaimon's lip curled up, and he scratched harder and deeper. "Lemme go," he said curtly, his small claws digging deep as they would go into Beelzebub's hand. I could tell that he was beginning to get nervous—anxious, even—and was rather shocked that Father didn't try to stop the fight. Perhaps it wasn't violent enough for him yet. I saw that his body was tense, prepared to bring this confrontation to a screeching halt if things got out of hand.

"Papa," whimpered Amaimon, turning his head toward Father with tears in his eyes, "make him let go."

"Beelzebub has a point, my dear," Satan said with a slight frown. "You shouldn't kill his kin indiscriminately. Apologize to your brother."

"But—"

Oh my, this was too rich! Watching Amaimon beg for help that would never come while Beelzebub steadily tightened his grip on the littlest brother's arm like a stag beetle's pincers was the icing on the cake for me. I laughed heartily, unfortunately attracting Amaimon's attention. He looked at me with wide, blue eyes, scared and in pain. "Aniue!" he cried. "Aniue, make him let me go!"

"Apologize first," I said, knowing that he wouldn't, "and then maybe I will." _And don't call me that, you annoying little twit._

It took more pleas toward Father and me as well as shouts from Beelzebub and a sharp twist of his arm for him to admit defeat and cry, "All right, all right, I'm sorry, let me go, let me go!"

Shoving Amaimon onto the ground and releasing him in the same swift movement, Beelzebub stood and brushed himself off, scowling down at the King of Flowers. He curled into a tight ball and cried, whimpering and shaking. Sunakon licked his cheek gently and asked him if he was okay, while Father's face turned from hesitant to guilty to miserable in a matter of minutes. Standing abruptly to his feet, he knelt down and picked Amaimon up in his arms, holding him closely; as he left the room, he said, "Both of you—Beelzebub, Samael—to your rooms, now." Sunakon followed at his heels, looking over toward Beelzebub and I with an unhappy frown.

I could just imagine what the white cat was thinking: "Are you happy now?"

The answer: "Yes."

* * *

**Let me be perfectly honest with you guys. I got a guest review saying that they were uneasy with this chapter, and looking on it, I can see why. This chapter is short and doesn't really have anything to do with anything other than to show how much Amaimon's hated by more than one of his brothers, not just Mephisto... and I got some facts wrong. I'm sorry if I made people uneasy! *bow bow cry cry*  
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**So, that's why I changed it! Satan is now a seer!  
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**Rather short chapter. Sorry about that… ^^' Nothing really bad happening here other than showing how Amaimon's treated by his other big bros.**

**1. Sunakon—inspired by 'chūjit**_**suna ****kon**_**panion', which is Japanese for 'faithful companion'. I figured that it would be cute for Satan to have a pet that's loyal to him and his family.**


	4. Year 4: The Flower Crown From Assiah

_Just don't say it to my face._

* * *

For Amaimon's fifth birthday, Father decided that it was a good idea to host a party.

Despite how much I hated the little twerp, I had to admit that the idea was rather appealing to me. After all, where there were parties, there were ladies! Besides, it had been too long since something even mildly interesting happened, and it would give me something to do in the meantime.

Really, it was more an odd mix-up between a ball and a party. Perhaps that's because Egyn was as insistent on making it out to be formal as much as I strived for the entertainment factor. I recall how he leered at me through his bright, blue eyes with a deep frown, his hands buried in the sleeves of his long, blue kimono. He calmly asked that I stand aside and let him do his job.

"What, are you gonna strip a couple of girls and men and moan about how they need to take care of themselves, O beautician?" I asked with a sneer.

Egyn owned a spa/beauty parlor that he almost dedicated his life to. Demons and demonesses constantly found themselves in his paradise, being stripped down to bate skin, shoved in hot water, furiously washed, shaved, et cetera, rinse (and repeat, when they came back again). It wasn't a bad service, and it got Egyn a good word in.

I hear he's still a virgin.

I saw him stiffen up like ice, his cheek steadily tinting a light pink as his gills flared in anger. "Why, I— " He cleared his throat, trying to find proper words. "You are—" He clenched his teeth, the ever calm exterior evaporating. "At least _I'm_ not a babysitter," he said with a decisive smirk as he saw my face fall in rage. "I'm _happy_ doing what I do. You should find something you enjoy, as well."

"Find something I enjoy?"

Let me be honest; these days, nothing in Gehenna was interesting. Sure, there was the occasional street fight and riot that broke out just to spice things up, but these got old very quickly. I could always find a job, like Egyn, but that would be pointless; Father was the Demon King, all I needed was at home. Ugh, now I finally understood what Lucifer meant—Gehenna was so _boring_.

Now Assiah—_that _was a completely different story! A world unknown and new to demonkind, a place full of new opportunities and excitement! Oh, dear, now I wanted to go there… beneath my cloak, my tail shifted; my heart raced at the thought of danger, at the mere suggestion of how I could play with those humans…

Egyn was tall, like me; so I hardly had to reach down to pat his head. He cringed at the contact, even pulling back slightly. Funny how he had no regard for others' personal space but thought so highly of his. I said something that I never thought I would tell any of my brothers.

"My brother," I said, showing complete disregard for his silent plea and planting my hands on his shoulders, "you are… an absolute genius."

"Eh?"

"Aniue!"

Instantly both Egyn and I cringed, recognizing that voice almost anywhere. I saw dread etched upon my brother's face, and I was sure a similar expression was on mine. Slowly we turned our heads to the side, in the direction of the voice that came from…

Amaimon was covered thickly in streaks of dirt, mud, and a little bit of blood, originating from the small scratches he had on his hands and knees, which were visible through the tears in his pants. His striped shirt and loose cravat—which he learned to tie by watching me undo and redo my own—were wet and filthy. He was breathing heavily, though he had the faintest smile on his pale face, and his eyes were bright cyan.

I felt Egyn sway on his feet before he fell forward onto me with a semi-dramatic groan, which I wouldn't have believed in a million years if I were a complete stranger to him, but because I was his brother and I grew up with him, I knew it wasn't feigned. Egyn simply despised all things filthy, which was why he disliked Amaimon so deeply; the little rat was always covered in dirt. And he could never persuade him to wash himself; more than once, I found Egyn chasing Amaimon, yelling at him about how important cleanliness was, and how he was going to end up making himself sick. Amaimon was always too fast; that is to say, Egyn never caught him.

Not once.

Sometimes I found Amaimon hiding in the most ridiculous of places. Teen feet above the ground in a curtain; the refrigerator, even though he disliked the cold; hell, I found him most often underneath my _bed_, even after I told him literally hundreds of times not to go anywhere near my room. "Is he gone?" he'd ask timidly. "Aniue, is big brother gone?"

I'd tell him 'no' after the first few times and return a while later to see if he was still there, which he usually was. Eventually the only way I'd tell him the truth was if he was in my room. "Yes, he's gone." Then I'd pull him out and send him along his merry way.

I snapped out of my thoughts as Egyn fell onto my chest, trembling and struggling not to fall to his knees. I almost laughed, but I was wondering instead how Amaimon got so muddy when it hadn't even rained in days. "Kid," I found myself saying, stiff, "why are you all muddy?"

His cheeks colored slightly, and he bowed his head, shy. His arms were behind his back. Quietly, he said, "A… Aniue, I made you something!"

If looks could kill, then the deep scowl on my face would have dragged Amaimon's soul away. "What is it?" I growled.

The child who was so oblivious to my absolute hatred toward him closed his eyes and smiled brightly, taking his hands out from behind his back and holding…

I released Egyn, not caring if he regained his footing or not, and stared at what was on his hands. It was green, but it was also pink and purple and white. It was something I did not recognize. "Amaimon," I said, darkly, "Amaimon, what is that?"

His four-year-old eyes opened, his smile beginning to fade. "Aniue doesn't like it?" he asked, frowning. I shook my head. Egyn stood next to me now, rubbing his head as he glanced at Amaimon, who met it with a confused gleam in his eyes. "Egyn," he said, lifting up the gift, "what's wrong with the flower crown I made for Aniue? Why doesn't he like it?"

"Flower… crown?" he asked, glancing at the gift.

There was a stiff moment of silence. In the empty ballroom, it felt like an eternity.

Suddenly he snapped, "_Amaimon, where did you get those flowers?!_"

Flinching at the outburst, Amaimon recoiled, holding the crown close to his chest, his demon heart. "I… I followed some demons in the city —"

"You did _WHAT?_"

"—and they walked in a tree outside of the city, and—and I followed them, and…" Suddenly he looked up, eyes shining brightly and the silliest grin on his face. "It was so pretty! It was a giant field of flowers, and it was so bright, and there was a place that looked just like home, too! I looked at the sky, and it was a pretty blue, and the clouds were so white and fluffy and pretty!"

Without warning, I raised a hand to slap Amaimon upside the head—beat him senseless, smack some sense into him—but a force held me back. Amaimon flinched under me as I found myself struggling to break my promise, the promise I made to Father years before.

I had dreams, sometimes, when I was a boy. I was having a race with my father, but suddenly I would feel a force holding down my legs, trying not to let me win even though I was in the lead. With Father rapidly catching up to me, and my legs unwilling to work properly, trying for some reason to stay in place, I would panic and try to run faster, but the force would only increase and I would go the same speed the more I tried and tried.

Sometimes it wasn't even Father. Sometimes some odd creature would chase me, and I knew that I had to run or I would get caught, destroyed, ravaged, eaten.

What I felt in the moment I tried to bring my hand down upon my little brother was exactly like what I felt in those dreams. An inexplicable force that almost seemed to slow time made me move so sluggishly that I knew even if my hand did make contact with Amaimon's face, it wouldn't hurt him in the slightest. No, no, this can't be happening! Break the promise break the promise! I had to punish the boy for his stupidity! I gritted my teeth together as I focused on my rage, my anger, my pure disdain towards the boy, and how I so desperately wanted to hear that satisfying _SMACK,_ feel the stinging of my hand as the green-haired idiot began to cry as his cheek began to turn red.

Forget the promise. Focus only on what you desire to do to the little boy.

The next thing my mind registered was the sharp surge of pain that welled in my hand through my glove and shot up my arm. A sharp outcry of pain rang in the air as Amaimon tumbled to the floor, the left side of his head bashing against the wall we were three feet away from. I didn't hear the sound I so desired, but that could be remedied later, couldn't it? He looked at me with fear and confusion in his eyes—mostly confusion. "W-wh—" His voice was high and scratchy from pain. "Wh-why—?"

"You little _idiot,_" I hissed, crinkling my nose as I rubbed my right hand sorely, though inside the pain made me trill. "You do not go to Assiah to get flowers to make a flower crown!"

Egyn was the gentler one in this situation, even if he looked faint. "Amaimon," he said, seeing the boy's confused and hurt expression, "you can't just go through portals and go to the mirror world… there are dangerous people there."

"We played a game," he said defensively, sniffling. "We played tag! They lost!"

"What do you mean, 'They lost'?" I asked, a mixture of confusion and pride in my voice. Deep inside, my stomach was beginning to form an electric coil, sending the tiny shocks through different parts of my body in retaliation for having broken a promise. This was my punishment. I knew it would only get worse throughout the day, but I was okay with that. I'd learn to control the pain, filter what I wanted to feel and what I didn't.

Amaimon looked down at the ground as a trickle of blood slid down his cheek from where his head made contact with the wall. He was fighting back tears, resisting the urge to lift his hand and feel his newfound injury. It was a rather glorious sight; the pink imprint of my hand on one side, scarlet blood sliding down his face on the other. "They lost," he whispered. "That's what I mean. I found them and I tagged them. They were so slow and loud."

Did that mean…?

"Did I do something bad, Aniue?" he asked, his eyes looking up at me with tears beginning to form in them despite how hard he tried to hold them down. "Is Papa going to be angry at me?"

I wasn't so much worried at what Father would say to Amaimon so much as I was suddenly concerned about what he would say to me if he were to find that I struck him after I made a promise to him. Rather than answer him, I frowned slightly and glanced around the ballroom to make sure we were still alone. Relieved that we were, I stalked up to him and knelt beside him, my gaze turning dark as I leered over him. He flinched, trembling slightly. "I'll tell you what," I said, taking the flower crown away from him and squeezing it in my hands. "I won't tell Father about your little… mistake."

"What?" asked Egyn in surprise. Amaimon's eyes widened in a similar reaction, before he smiled and opened his mouth.

Before he could say so much as 'Thank you', I raised my hand again, making him wince, but I had no plans to hit him anymore. My fist was clenched, with my index finger being the only one raised. "_If_ you don't tell Father what just transpired in this ballroom. _Ever._"

Amaimon stared at my hand for a long moment, a slow frown making its way across his face. "Aniue," he said slowly, "what if Papa asks me why I'm hurt?"

In a sudden, swift movement, I reached out my hand and squeezed his cheeks painfully. He squeaked in pain and tried to move away, but I grabbed his filthy tie and kept him in place.

"Lie," I said, and then I let him go.

"L-Lie?" he repeated in barely more than a whisper. "But… Papa told me lying is bad—"

"Would you rather get in trouble because of your stupidity?" I snapped, lifting my head snobbishly. God, it felt good to feel superior to someone else, especially someone so small. "Lying isn't always bad. It gets you out of trouble if you lie cleverly enough."

"Samael," mumbled Egyn almost desperately, tapping the back of my head to try to get my attention. "Father's here."

In that moment, I stood abruptly to my feet, pulling Amaimon to his in the same movement. I hid the crown behind a corner that had nothing behind it and hoped that Father wouldn't randomly decide to check behind it. I hadn't noticed the huge double doors open on their squealing hinges, which was surprising, since I was usually the one to pay attention to this sort of stuff. I stood to attention, looking at the doors and hiding my apprehensiveness.

Father walked in, looking over his shoulder as he said his farewells, before his eyes scanned the ballroom and found us. Smiling gently, he came over; the smile dissipated quickly when he noticed Amaimon's bedraggled state, and he dashed toward us on swift feet. "Amaimon," he said, worried, "what happened? Why are you so filthy?" A pause. "And… did somebody hit you? Why are you bleeding?!"

The final question came out as a shout, one of panic and concern.

"P-Papa," he mumbled as Satan knelt down to his level and gently grasped his arms.

"Who did this to you?" he snapped, lifting his hand to touch Amaimon's wound on his head. "Amaimon, did something happen to you? You're all scratched up…" He turned his head towards us for a moment. "Sammy, Egyn, did something happen while you two were in here?"

Both of us shook our heads; I caught Amaimon's gaze, noticing how worried he looked, how scared. It was all I could do not to smirk.

Amaimon began to tremble as Father returned his attention on him, fixing his flaming blue eyes on him, the eyes that the majority of his family had. "Amaimon, tell me what happened!"

The green-haired boy hesitated, tears forming in his eyes. "P… Papa, it…"

_Oh, no, you'd better not rat me out, you little punk._

"I… it was Tukadam! **(1)**"

Tukadam? Who was Tukadam?

"Amaimon, tell me, who's Tukadam?" Father never seemed to have heard of him, either. It wasn't surprising; as far as I knew, Amaimon never told others of his personal life—of his friends, his foes, what he did in his spare time, the people he met. Perhaps Tukadam was a figment of his imagination, developed in a hurry in an attempt to rat me out of having hurt him. Speaking of which, was the only reason he was lying because I threatened to tell Father of his misadventure?

No, but every lie had to have a grain of truth in it. Argh, I forgot to tell that to Amaimon! A part of me wondered if he knew this, or if he were smart enough to figure this out on his own.

"He's a mean older demon who makes fun of me in the city," he sniffled, letting the tears run free. "H-His papa is a soldier at this place, so he can enter and leave as he pleases… sometimes, he enters the palace just to make fun of me…"

How ridiculous! A normal, everyday demon, teasing a King? Father would never believe this!

…Of course, considering the fact that sometimes I found him stalking through the hallway with his arms crossed and a sour look on his face, muttering darkly under his miasma breath, with bruises and small scratches on his hands and face and neck, perhaps it wasn't so hard to believe. Though, I always thought it was one of my brothers being an absolute jerk to him. I always entertained these thoughts, wondering who could possibly hold a grudge against him, and why they would snap at him in such a way….

…But now that I thought about it, Amaimon was a Demon King _Child_. He didn't know the limitations of his own power, nor did he fully comprehend them. Perhaps Father even forbid him from using them outside of training. Speaking of which, I never actually saw the Flower King's abilities stretched to the fullest. Perhaps it would make for an entertaining show later on.

"And he hit you?" hissed Father, gingerly touching the wound that the wall inflicted. Amaimon winced and turned his head away, hot, salty tears streaming down his cheeks.

"I was just walking around in the huge garden in the back," he mumbled, raising his hand and wiping away the tears from one eye, "and—and he creeped up on me and shoved me into a mud hole! After he did that, I tried to run away, but I kept tripping, and he caught up… he pulled my tail a lot," he whispered, looking down at the ground with tightly closed eyes. "It hurt so much…"

Father frowned slightly, opening his mouth to lecture Amaimon on the reason he was supposed to keep his tail hidden. Ah, I heard that speech so many times; I could even tell from the hand gestures what he was about to say! But Amaimon cut him off with, "I-I hid my tail, Papa, I did, he pulled it out and pulled very very hard! And then he kicked my tummy a lot, and I somehow managed to get away, and I ran in here, and no one was in here… he followed me, and…."

With a high-pitched whimper, he closed his eyes tighter and hugged himself tightly, breaking into helpless sobs that I found myself quickly believing. Even Egyn gave a start, walking toward him and hesitantly patting his back despite how much drying mud was on it. Father wrapped his arms gently around his small form, holding him close and tight. "It's okay, Amaimon," he murmured, "hush, hush…"

"H-He hit me!" cried my youngest brother, holding tightly to Father, heavy, heaving sobs racking their way across his vulnerable body. "He hit me, and there was no one here, and he kept hitting me and he pulled a knife and—and Aniue and Egyn came in, and he was scared away when the doors opened!" He whimpered heavily; an astounding performance from a boy who supposedly never lied before. "H-He went through that window," he continued, "the one behind Aniue…"

Father ground his teeth tightly together; all of us except for Amaimon stared up at the window he had described, noticing that it was indeed open. I blinked. Was Amaimon just taking a random guess about whether the window was open or not, or did he actually see it before he came up and talked to us? "I swear," hissed Father, holding Amaimon tightly to his stiff body, "that idiot will perish… by my hand… _mine!_ _**Nobody hurts my sons and gets away with it. **__**NO ONE.**__**"**_

Perhaps it was simply Father's tone of voice, or the mere manner that he spoke it in, but I couldn't help but shudder heavily, resisting the urge to hug myself in reassurance. It gave me a small bit of relief that Amaimon was actually covering for me, though I couldn't help but feel a little guilty. The electric tingle had increased to new proportions by now, and it took great effort not to whimper. I guessed that it would perhaps last until midnight.

Father released Amaimon then, and he stood abruptly to his feet, leaving Egyn to be the only one to take care of the crying child. "Kirisaki-Ma! **(2)**" he called, and one of the guards stepped forward when his name was called. "Find this 'Tukadam' and bring him to me!"

Fuck.

God, I hoped that he wasn't lying about Tukadam actually existing.

* * *

As it turned out, I really had no reason to worry.

Amaimon told Kirisaki-Ma that Tukadam often spent his time in the city square, which was by the castle, so the kid was allowed to go there as long as he was supervised. Father lectured him about how he should tell someone where he was going before he actually left, and Amaimon apologized, knowing it was his fault. Then Kirisaki-Ma asked around a bit, and before long, he returned to the castle with an Air elemental demon.

He certainly looked like someone who would bully a child, and he looked old enough to be in his mid teens. I glanced at his hands and noted that they were, actually, almost as big as my own. He was incredibly rude and kept throwing glares at my little brother.

When he found himself in front of Satan, he instantly sobered up, obviously wondering anxiously why he was there.

"You are Tukadam, correct?" Father asked, a dark frown on his face.

"Yes, sir," he stammered, keeping his gaze lowered.

"Do you know my son, Amaimon?"

Tukadam glanced up at the boy, who was forcefully cleaned by Egyn and whose hair was still rather damp, and nodded tensely. "Yes, sir, I do."

"Did you physically assault him?"

"S-sorry, what?" Now Tukadam glanced up, his green eyes showing confusion, but with sweat on his brow. "Um, sir, why on earth would I do that?"

"Liar," grumbled Amaimon, frowning. "You hit me."

"You're the liar here, you little brat!" snapped Tukadam, completely forgetting of Father's presence. "I swear, I'll kill you the next time I see you, you little crybaby!" I snorted with laughter, though I knew that this boy had best get off of the streets before he caused any more trouble than he was worth. I whispered to Amaimon, telling him to show him the bruises on his stomach, which Amaimon told me a mere moment before he arrived was true. Smart little boy he was; getting a bully in trouble because of something his dear big brother did! And I told him that if he covered for me, I wouldn't tell Father about his little adventure into Assiah.

Which, believe it or not, I planned to keep, because he could tell Father that I struck him instead when I found out, and he could get both me and Tukadam in line for a punishment.

Amaimon quietly nodded his head and spoke up to Father, grabbing the bottom of his shirt and lifting it up to expose purpling skin that made even me feel ill. His fuzzy green tail, which was wrapped around his stomach and chest, was slanted at an odd angle near the middle-end—possibly broken, but it could be fixed easily enough. Several days before, he finally got how to turn into a human-like form, which prompted Father's attention and approval. "You did this," he mumbled darkly, his eyes oddly shaded and I swear it would have been funny if it weren't so spine-tingling.

"I… I did not!" Tukadam snapped, crossing his arms sourly.

"Don't lie! Lying is bad! It only gets you into trouble!" Angrily, Amaimon stomped his foot on the ground. All of the brothers that were there—Egyn, Beelzebub, Astaroth, and myself—, as well as Father and Tukadam—jumped when the ground began to rumble. "I don't like liars!" snapped Amaimon, stomping his other foot. The ground began to crack under the force of his feet. His fists were clenched, though not in a way that his nails would dig into his skin and make him bleed. "Liar, liar, LIAR!"

The more he yelled, the more he stomped his feet, and I was honestly beginning to grow frightened. The crack grew thicker, the ground rumbled more and more with his growing fury. The curtains drawn over the windows trembled and shivered as the force raked its way across the walls. The small cracks that were imbedded in the stone walls grew slightly larger, slightly longer. Amaimon began stalking toward Tukadam, who tried to back away, but tripped when he stepped back against an indentation that was caused by Amaimon's anger. He tried stepping back, but Amaimon was all ready in front of him.

Amaimon opened his mouth and, loudly, yelled, "_TELL THE TRUTH, YOU UGLY LIAR!"_

"All right, all right!" screamed Tukadam, raising his arms to cover his ears, "I hit you and I kicked you and pulled and broke your tail! Are you happy now?!"

Amaimon smiled, and the tremors ceased. Then he winced, wrapping his arms around his stomach, only now realizing that he pulled several bruised muscles while expressing his rage.

Contrary to Amaimon's triumphant smile was Father's angry scowl. "You little brat," he hissed, standing from his throne and walking slowly toward the Air demon. "Teasing my little boy, punching him, hitting him, hurting him… you should be ashamed of yourself." Reaching down, he grabbed the collar of the raven-haired demon's shirt and held him one foot above the ground, directly in front of his seething face. "What did he ever do to you? Where do you think you can get off of hurting one of Satan's sons? I'm the fucking _Devil_, son, so don't think that I'll let you off easily."

Tukadam gulped, trembling at the murderous look in Satan's eyes.

"I'll have to speak to your mother, have you compensate for your mistakes… and don't think that I'll show you any bit of mercy, little boy, because let me tell you, Ignis has been simply _dying_ for a new punching bag." Father sneered. "I'm sure he'll _love_ you."

"Oh, _yeah_," muttered Astaroth, smirking cheekily as he crossed his arms and shuddered. "It'll be so fun to see the guy whimper and cry out in pain… even if it was because he hit that weakling." Astaroth had to cover his mouth to keep Father from hearing his devilish laugh, while me and Beelzebub glanced at him disapprovingly.

"Astaroth, you're not all that strong, either," said Beelzebub, his antennae twitching in agitation. "Based on the boy's abilities at present moment, I'd say that he'd beat you to a pulp when he gets older."

"_What'd you say?"_ Now he pulled his hand away from his face and glowered at the light-green-haired man, who yawned, his dragonfly wings twitching behind him. "What was that about being beaten?"

"Really, children, stop your squabbling," I crooned, wrapping my arms around each of their shoulders—right over Beelzebub's, left against Astaroth's. "You made me miss his darling little reaction, m'dears. Hush up and shut up."

Both hesitantly obeyed, though they gave each other dark glances, and Astaroth—who liked to lightly tease Amaimon for being so small, and gloat about how powerful he was despite being the second-youngest of us all—glowered at Amaimon, the threat to his title as Seventh.

Really, though. It's not my fault that Astaroth and Amaimon hate each other, not even now. If you ask me, it was all Beelzebub's fault.

That was the day that Amaimon became the King of Deceit.

* * *

**1. Tukadam—Khmer for 'nectar', which was all I could think about as I was writing this. I wanted the bully's name to be a translation of 'nectar'. Don't ask why. Sounds good though, right? **

**2. Kirisaki-Ma—Japanese for 'Slasher', according to Google Translate. Once again, don't ask. I don't know.**

**Amaimon's a tough little bugger, isn't he? Nice to know it's Beelzebub's fault that Amaimon and Astaroth hate each other now! At least it's not Sammy's, so that's a start.**

**And I just **_**know **_**that you guys will love the next chapter. Guess who's movin' to Assiah~?**

**No, it's not you, Satan, calm down. Your time will come to shine later.**

**Satan: Aww…**

**Mephisto: Is it just me, or have you never given a disclaimer?**

**Eh? Oh, I have, but I'll do it again anyway just to shut you up. Ao No Exorcist isn't mine. I just LOOOVE playing with its demons, they're so cute~ *pinches kid Amaimon's cheeks***

**Amaimon: H-Hey! *pout***

**Let me know if you guys like it! Reviews prompt me to become a better writer and also motivates me to write more! **


	5. Year 5: I Will Make You Happy

But even if you do…

**[Place Line Here]**

"Aniue, I wanna play! Can we play?"

_You would have thought that telling Amaimon that you just had a long day and was flat-out exhausted would be like waving a banister with bright red letters spelling out the words "Go Away" right in front of his face, correct? Apparently he didn't get the memo; not even when I lay upon my plush, soothing bed with a great, weary sigh did he leave me be, which provoked a short sigh of annoyance that slowly flickered into aching tiredness, disappearing altogether._

_In fact, all I could manage to murmur was a quiet, "Don't call me that," as I pulled my hat off and threw it to the side, fingers fumbling softly with my beige gloves but giving up quickly as my body sank into my sheets, the coolness soothing my stressed muscles. He stopped calling me Aniue, but referred to his second name for me, which was really nothing special, so I didn't mind._

"_Brother, please! Let's play!"_

"_Noooo," I moaned, lifting my left hand to my head and massaging it slightly. I refused to open my eyes, if only for the satisfaction of knowing he didn't reduce me to that measure quite yet. My inner demon had his arms crossed, frowning at how childish I was behaving, but I ignored him and kept my eyes shut tight. "Go bother someone else, kid…" Not even the strength to call him names, that's how tired I was._

"_Come on, big brother!" Reaching over the edge of my bed, he grabbed my right hand and gently tugged; I could hear the narrowed eyebrows and small pout on his face through his voice. "I want to play a game with you!"_

_Not pulling away from the Flower King, I opened my eyes a slit and turned my gaze to him, noticing the paleness of his skin, the droopiness of his eyes, the coolness of his gaze. Despite how calm his expression seemed, I noticed how his tail wagged slightly behind him, displaying his eagerness. "Amaimon, I told you, no. Now go away."_

"_But big bro-ther-r," whined the child, grabbing my hand tighter and tugging once more. "I wanna play a game!"_

"_I don't want to play with you right now," I grunted, wanting to pull away but lacking the motive to do so. A voice in the back of my head murmured the words _Or ever_, but I forgot it almost as soon as I heard it. "Go bother someone else."_

"_Brother, let's play a game." Amaimon let go of my hand and rested his arms on the side of my bed, resting his head in his crossed arms and looking up at me. "I want to play a game."_

"_I told you no." Now rather than letting him pester me further, I gathered the strength to raise my hand and nudge him away gently—_gently? _Since when was I gentle with him?—away from me before letting my hand rest by my body and the other on my weary stomach. "I've had a long day, and all I want right now is rest. So go away, please. I'm asking you nicely."_

_Shutting my eyes again, I rolled over on my side, facing away from the child and enjoying the soothing touch of cotton fabric. There was a moment of silence in which the only sound was the tick-tock of the clock on the wall, the sound of breathing, the beating of demon hearts. Then Amaimon took several steps back, oddly quiet and uncertain. "…So if I go away, you'll be happy?" he asked, sounding rather confused with the faintest trace of understanding._

"_Yes," I said without hesitation, relieved that he finally understood._

"…_Okay," he said, sounding determined. "I'll make Aniue happy! I'll go away! Good-bye, Aniue!"_

"_Whatever, kid," I mumbled, cringing as the sound of running met my ears, to be finalized by the opening and abrupt shutting of the door. Soon after, I felt the deep, dark confines of sleep overwhelm me, and all I knew was darkness._

**[Place Line Here]**

'_I'll make Aniue happy.' _

I couldn't help but remember these words hours after, clear and ringing in my stunned mind. Standing beside me, Beelzebub was bristling, his antennae twitching in an agitated manner, his eyes casting the occasional glare towards me. I paid no mind to it, keeping my arms crossed and my gaze forward. Outside, I was resolute and unbothered, but secretly, deep inside, I was recoiling deep within myself, struggling to absorb the fact of what just happened in my sleep-deprived state.

There was a door that was often locked that had a large one-way window on the third floor of the castle that could be used to view into the infirmary. While it was locked thirty-six minutes before, it was no problem to pick at all. Three minutes after I entered the room, Beelzebub rushed in. "What did you do?" he asked. "What did you do?" I didn't say a single word.

I didn't spare Beelzebub a single glance, focusing my attention on the one-way window that displayed the infirmary. I watched Father and Egyn ceaselessly work, fumbling for tools and shouting at each other. I couldn't hear what they were saying through the glass, but I noticed the heated glares that contained silent apology. High on nerves, low on consideration, Egyn healed with his water and Father sealed the wounds with his fire, all the while sending a healing pulse of his flames through the small, unconscious body so he wouldn't have to suffer any more pain when he awoke.

There was a bloody steak knife on a sheet of white cloth resting on the bedside table.

'_I'll go away.'_

A part of me couldn't help but feel that this was my fault, but that part of me was silenced as the demon in me yelled at me and shouted loudly. _It's not your fault, it's that idiot's._ Then the angel I despised whispered, _But it is his fault. He needs to apologize._

_Shut up,_ I thought, dismissing both of these voices. Dismissing Beelzebub's—what was he saying? Something about blood? He sounded sick to his stomach. That's all that registered in my mind as I stared blankly at my desperately working sibling and my father. That and how much red there was, staining the white sheets a wet, hazy scarlet.

It wasn't my fault. How could it be, when I scarcely even touched him?

'_Good-bye, Aniue.'_

But was this his intention? Did he mean it to be a swift one, straight in the heart, or did he intend to make me suffer, watch him bleed? I couldn't imagine it—how much he looked up to me, surely watching him wither away like the wilted flower he was wasn't his intention. More likely he meant it to be swift. To cut the stem and end it all quickly, quietly. Not to be mended back to health by his gardener, the job half-done, stem ripped three-quarters the way through but not exactly too far gone… just barely hanging on by a single thread.

They managed to stabilize his body, though his blood was still short, and his skin was paler than it normally was. Even in blissful unconsciousness, I could see the pain on his face. Satan finalized their efforts with a searing burn to close the wound, and Egyn wiped his hands on a white cotton hand towel. I blinked, snapping out of my reverie, and glanced at each of their relieved, concerned faces. The flower would live another day, no thanks to me, but whether he would live longer than that was entirely dependant on his strength.

Beelzebub said something else. That much I remember, but what he said and how he said it fell on deaf ears. _He must be cold. _I recall the passing thought, and was quietly surprised with myself, that I would even consider that the child was too cold or too hot or just right. His bare chest—_which has purpling bruises_, I realized suddenly—had a red, narrow burn in the center of it now, which Father gave him in order to fully close the wound.

I clenched my teeth together for a moment, feeling an odd sensation—my heart sinking into my stomach, shivering and quivering. Any more to his left, and he would have punctured his heart, and he would have died almost instantly.

With a steak knife.

I ignored the tug at my clothes, too enveloped in my confusion and worry to care about Beelzebub's presence beside me anymore. Eventually it stopped, and I stayed there for a long time. I don't know how long. I didn't bother to count the seconds, the minutes, the hours, but when I finally glanced at where Beelzebub was (in my mind, mere minutes before), I found the gap filled with cold, stiff air. After several seconds, I looked back to the window, wrapping my arms around my stomach in a gentle hug that did little to soothe me.

It was only when I heard a voice behind me that I turned.

"Samael," said Father in his deceptively calm voice, "it's time to eat dinner, now."

While his voice was calm, it was only for my sake, and the sake of his children, and for him, as well. I didn't know whether to feel thankful toward him or to chastise him for his selfishness. In the end, I did neither, returning my full attention to the infirmary. Father said nothing else, as if he was waiting. After several long, unwanted moments, I said at last, "I'm not hungry. Just start the dinner without me."

"Samael, you have to eat something." He was calm and stern, building a sturdy façade that I almost believed. "If you don't, then your health will—"

"Does it look like I care about that right now?" I whispered, cutting him off before he could begin one of his lectures. My arms moved from my waist to my chest, and I shivered in the cold nothingness. It still vexed me how something I had pondered on for so many years could push me to react in such a manner. It wasn't like I actually _cared_ about him, was it? "I'll eat after I'm done here… but right now, I need to be left alone."

_I need to be left alone._ Wasn't that basically what I told the child two floors down, resting painfully in a hospital-like bed? Did he truly believe that cutting his stem would solve all of my anger?

'_I'll make Aniue happy.'_

"Don't you tell me what you need, Samael," Father hissed, allowing his mask to crack slightly. Then, softer; "Your brothers need you right now. I know you don't love them very much, but you need to be there for them."

"And what about Amaimon?" I was surprised at how quiet my voice was, considering how furious I was internally becoming. My bare fingers dug into my arm, tight enough that they would later bruise. It seemed that the mere utterance of his name made the reality painstakingly clear. "He tried to _kill_ himself."

"And that is not your fault." A gentle hand rested itself on my shoulder, startling me. I glanced over it towards him, to his snow hair and azure eyes that I alone failed to inherit. Out of eight sons, I was the only one with the yellow-green eyes, with the exception of Lucifer, but because of our differences, I barely registered him as one of my brothers. "Then again, it isn't his, either." For a split second his eyes drifted toward the child through the window, glazed with melancholy sorrow, before they flickered back to me. "If you desire to pin the blame on anybody, place it on me, not yourself."

"I don't think it works that way."

Satan pursed his lips, and a faint smile traced its way on his face. How could he smile when Amaimon was so injured, so close to Death's door? "The point is-s-s, Sammy," he said, releasing my shoulder, standing on his tiptoes, leaning forward, and gently kissing my forehead, "he's okay right now. He'll be all better come morning. If you don't believe me, you can visit him."

I barely heard his words. My mind was on the kiss that he gave me, the sign of affection and love that was declined from me for well over ten Gehennian years. It had been so long since he had even kissed me, I'd almost forgotten… Father loved me as much as any of my brothers. There was no particular favoritism, except against Iblis because of what an ass he could be over ninety percent of the time. Yet even despite all of that, he loved us all so much, poured his heart into creating us and nurturing us since birth. Despite how much of a bother we all were, he made the time for us all.

And I remembered that time, long ago, when life was much simpler and the most either of us had to worry about was what we were having for dinner. We were in the kitchen cooking breakfast, and I was perhaps six, and he was cooking oatmeal. While his back was turned, I threw in several spicy peppers as a prank, and I enjoyed the look on his red face as he stumbled around for milk or cheese. I recall he yelled at me for a while, before he smiled cheekily and threw in some cheese after forcing me to taste it as punishment, saying how I found my own recipe for a spicy breakfast meal. Then he gently kissed my nose, chiding me for getting some of the oatmeal on the tip of it, before quickly taking another sip of milk.

The kiss soothed me enough that I nodded my head quietly and obeyed his words. Silently, I followed him out of the observation room, though I didn't forget to cast a glance at Amaimon's sickly form, a surge of guilt rushing down my spine.

Dinner was quiet. For once, all of my brothers were gathered in one place, and no agitations were raised. Even Iblis noted the silence and kept his mouth shut, which was incredibly out of character for him. I was surprised at how quickly the word of Amaimon's little… _accident_, as Father called it, got out. So we ate our boiled kraken soup in relative silence, though it was obvious that nobody had much of an appetite.

The one who chanced to break the ice—Astaroth, of all people—threw down his silverware in annoyance and said, "Okay, someone needs to say something. This is just weird. So, Samael." He leaned forward with his elbow on the table and the other on his waist, an eyebrow raised in inquiry towards my direction, "why'd you do it?"

I looked up at him in a daze from staring at my wine glass, just barely registering his words. When they clicked in my mind, my mouth formed a deep scowl. "Why the hell do you think _I_ did it?" I snapped. "I was asleep."

"So you say. Really bad alibi, if you ask me."

"I agree with Astaroth," proclaimed Iblis, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair, glowering at me, seated to my left, with his hard, icy eyes. Wasn't it strange that the King of Fire had to have such cold, relentless eyes? "Plus you absolutely loathe the boy. It is possible that you could have—"

"You're quick to throw accusations about, aren't you?" mumbled Egyn, seated across from Iblis as he took a sip of his ice-cold water.

"WHAT'S THAT SUPPOSED TO MEAN?!" Standing abruptly enough that the chair he was sitting on fell flat on its back, Iblis slammed his hands on the table, making it tremble under the pressure as he glowered at his younger twin brother, who stared at him impassively.

"I think what he means is that you're being rather quick about it, Iblis," noted Beelzebub, clenching his hands together as he leaned toward the table. "If you ask me, it's rather fishy."

Across from me, Lucifer, who was visiting from a different region in Gehenna, shook his head and remained quiet. While he said nothing, his silence spoke measures in my ears: _I know what you did. We'll talk about it later._

Ugh, I didn't want to talk about it. Not now, and not ever again.

"You do realize that I'm talking about both you and Astaroth, right?" continued my bug brother, shrugging. "Or maybe you both did. Ever since several months ago, Astaroth's hated Amaimon because he thinks that he'll challenge his position as Seventh. You, though, you hate him because of how weak he is. Who's to say that you didn't conspire against him?" Then, as an afterthought, "Hey, sit down, you're making me nervous."

He had every right to be nervous. With just a wave of his hand, Iblis could scorch his dragonfly wings off with ease, considering they sat side-by-side at the dinner table.

Azazel only sat in his seat, twiddling his thumbs almost anxiously. He didn't say a single word, seeing as how he appeared not to desire a fight. Throughout the whole of the accusations, Father said nothing, just poking at his food with his fork and taking the occasional hesitant bite. He was the only one eating anymore. I could tell that he was thinking very deeply, hardly aware of his surroundings.

Before long, nearly everyone broke out in a fight. Azazel fled like a sprightly bird, Iblis tossed several fireballs at Egyn and Beelzebub, Egyn was attempting to quench his flames, and Beelzebub was dodging. Astaroth was rooting for the Fire King, shouting loudly and cheering. Loosing interest, I returned my attention to my food, poking at my mashed potatoes slightly with my spoon. Beginning to develop a headache, I excused myself to Father and ascended from my seat before leaving the room as quietly as possible.

The hallways were mostly empty, except for the occasional maid or butler demon. Using my memory of the place, I re-located the infirmary and—glancing around carefully to see if anyone was around—attempted to open it. Of course, it was locked.

"What are you doing, Samael?"

At first I jumped, and then I cringed as I looked over my shoulder and found Lucifer standing before me, obviously having just followed from the dining room. His arms were crossed in an unamused gesture; his blonde tail trailed slightly along the ground, though not enough that it got too unbearable. He frowned at me with eyes to match my own, though I knew mine were filled more with contempt than the unabashed glimmer that was in his.

"Nothing, Lucifer," I snapped, moving away from the door as a growl bubbled up darkly from my stomach. "Shall I ask you the same question?"

"You didn't want him to pester you, did you?"

My eyes narrowed. How did he know?

Lucifer blinked slowly and coolly, retaining his calm demeanor as he walked closer towards me. "Father said that you would try to enter the infirmary without his permission," he continued, impassively removing a key from his sleeve and unlocking the door with it. He glanced over at my surprised reaction and added, "And because this is basically your fault, perhaps it's better for you to see the result of your endeavors."

My gaping mouth transformed into a deep frown. Eyes of matching shades made contact, one cool and the other enraged. "I could have opened it on my own, thank you," I said snappishly, extending a hand and shoving him out of the way. "Get lost, dickface."

A pale, tight hand snaked its way around my upper arm, keeping me in place so he could have his word with me. Startled, I froze entirely, staring at it. "I'm warning you, Samael. If you do something stupid to Amaimon at any point of time in the future, I can promise you that your head will be mine to enjoy over my fireplace."

"And what is that supposed to mean?" I snapped, attempting to pull myself away from my elder brother but failing. His grip on me tightened.

"It means, 'Make up your mind of I'll make it up for you,'" he explained patiently, using his free hand to turn the door handle and open it inwardly. "Either give him the attention he wants or stay away from him completely."

"You're not my father," I hissed, twisting my arm in a way that he had to release his grip on me. Without hesitation, I strode into the infirmary, yelling over my shoulder, "And you sure as hell aren't my _mother._"

"When he tries to kill himself again like a fool, don't say I didn't warn you," he replied, closing the infirmary door and locking it tight, leaving me to spend the night in the white room. I couldn't help but chuckle darkly.

Oh, dear brother Lucifer. I love you so much, but you're such a pain in the ass.

It took me a minute to find the bed that Amaimon rested in, and even longer to locate a chair to pull up beside it. Only when I did so did I observe the child who was sleeping. His unnaturally pale skin was even paler than normal, almost blending into the bed sheets.

It suddenly struck me how small he was, how weak his bones still were. Sure, he was a Demon King… but that didn't mean that he was born powerful. Power was a right, something that had to be earned.

How could I think such thoughts when he was clearly in so much pain, it hurt to breathe even in his sleep?

I was stood there beside him, wary of making too much noise else he would stir. I didn't wonder why Lucifer allowed me inside of the infirmary, thinking it simply as a display of how much Father trusted him with the most trivial of things. As if he was saying, 'Well, you're the hellraiser and I'm the model child, and this shows it so go see how much you failed, please.' I wondered if he was watching from the window several floors above, outwardly unfazed but gloating on the inside. I gritted my teeth and turned my head toward it, lifting up my hand and raising my middle finger. Just in case.

Then I returned my full attention to the child, and I stood right there by his bedside, waiting, waiting for him to awaken, so I could apologize. This was my fault, after all. I wouldn't be surprised if he despised me after this. And why did the thought make my heart sink into my stomach? If he never spoke to me again, wasn't that what I wanted?

I didn't tear my gaze away from his placid face for hours that ticked on by like slugs. I counted the hours, the minutes, and the seconds for distraction. His forehead was wet from a thin sheen of sweat; by the end of the first seven minutes, he'd begun to shift in his sleep, likely suffering a nightmare that stemmed from his attempt at suicide. His bare chest began to heave after seventeen minutes. He began to squirm and writhe before twenty. I knew that if I touched him, it would make it worse, so I forced myself to watch.

It took him two hours to calm down, and for the last three, I tried to distract myself with happy thoughts—happy thoughts that would keep me from feeling the guilt that weighed on me, that felt worse than when I broke a promise. I didn't flinch when the clock struck midnight, when the faint sound of Laspire's twin towers sounded way off in the distance, as it had for the eleventh hour, and the tenth, and the ninth…

And I was tired. Oh, how I longed to sleep—to return to my room and lay down upon my silken sheets and enjoy its sweet, satiny embrace. But it was my exhaustion that led to this, my exhaustion and my hatred that ultimately led to his suffering. Every time my eyes closed for a moment and I felt anger towards myself at my concern for my little brother, I remembered with a jolt that I stayed here for one hour, for two, for three and a quarter, and I couldn't leave him, not now. It simply didn't settle right with me, and I couldn't figure out for the life of me why I was worried for my littlest brother. He was just a flower, after all.

There had to be a solution to this problem. I was incapable of loving the boy as he loved me. Hell, demons weren't even supposed to love—it was a foreign emotion, a sign of weakness, of humanity. A demon that loved was a demon that died.

So what was the solution, then?

What was it?

What is it?

"Aniue?"

The voice made me jump abruptly and open my eyes, of which were closed in an effort to think. I looked at Amaimon, wondering if I'd heard correctly… sure enough, tired cerulean eyes stared right back at me, tears beginning to form in those strangely uncanny eyes.

He appeared to be surprised, really, at my presence. I didn't blame him; since when was I at his side when he awoke? Father was expected, but me? Samael? The Second King of Gehenna?—yet he refused to question my presence, instead referring to breaking into a sobbing mess as he repeatedly apologized. "Aniue, I… I'm sorry…"

This made me blink as I tilted my head, confused. "Amaimon, why are you apologizing to me?"

"I—I wanted to make you happy… you wanted me gone, so I tried to leave… Aniue, I'm sorry…"

Overcome with a surge of rage, I stood and knelt down and planted my hands on the edge of the bed. "You… you little brat," I snapped, raising my hand and squeezing his cheeks together. I leaned down right in front of his face, agitation written all across it. "Idiot. Good-for-nothing fool… where the hell do you get off trying to kill yourself?! Don't do that again!"

"I-I'm sorry," he stammered, trying to pull away, "I-I didn't think—"

"Damn right, you didn't! You don't ever think about anything, do you?!"

"…I'm sorry, Aniue…"

I paused for a moment, looking down on him with a condescending smirk. "Damn right you are." I released him and stood upright. "If you do that again, I'll never forgive you, because then Father will blame it on me."

"Yes, Aniue…" he mumbled as I turned my back towards him and walked to the other end of the infirmary.

"…I'll only do what makes you happy…"

**[Place Line Here]**

**Woooow, sorry it took so long, guys, I grew a bit unmotivated when I got to the part where Amaimon woke up. It's been a while since I wrote this… it seems that my turnoff from franchises is writing a ton of fanfiction at one time on the same series. I gotta stop doing that.**

**So yeah. Amaimon tried to commit suicide.**

**And for those who don't know, Amaimon's demon heart is like a giant flower bud or something similar to that. The 'stem' represents this.**

**Poor Amai-kun… wai you think it's a good idea for you to kill yourself for your jerk of a brother?**

**What do you think? Does Mephisto love Amaimon?**


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